


when you hold me, i'm alive

by londongrammar



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, and a bit of smut, miss t wilding out on social media, the significance™ of that day in geneva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 18:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14478513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/londongrammar/pseuds/londongrammar
Summary: He knows what he’s doing. At 5am this morning, when he awoke after a few minutes of sleep and found her restless, eyes wide open, bouncing her leg on the mattress, she welcomed his touch. He quietly picked her up and carried her to the shower. “Let’s just relax,” he said, turning on the hot water, and they proceeded to do everything except relax, as he held tight to the exact same spot that he’s touching right now.Oh, God.It’s going to be a long day.*or, an interpretation of what may have triggered Tessa's social media activities on Tuesday, April 24th.





	when you hold me, i'm alive

**Author's Note:**

> me in 2008: yas my babies, i don't really ship it but i've decided to stan forever  
> me in february 2018: they're gonna be together forever. i have planted the seed and i will SEE IT HARVEST. don't think i'll write fic tho  
> me in april 2018: miss t did WHAT on instagram??? tomhankstyping.gif
> 
> title comes from rihanna's "diamonds", which tessa said was the song she listened to the most this season. hmmm i wonder why?
> 
> all of this is fictional!

It turns out that all-nighters are all fine and dandy when you’re in your teens or early twenties, but much, much harder to manage when you’re thirty or inching close to it. She pops one eye open, sees the ominous _09.49_ flashing on the alarm clock on the bedside table, and groans. All in all, they’ve slept for an hour and a half, and practice is bound to be a pain in the ass.

 

“Morning, T,” says Scott into her neck. “We gotta get up, you know that right?”

 

“Nope. You can’t make me,” she replies sleepily, and he chuckles. He peppers her jaw with kisses, and if he’s trying to get her to wake up, he’s doing a bad job because the ideas she’s getting won’t let them get out of bed any time soon.

 

***

 

(Really, it’s his fault that she constantly wakes up in this state of arousal. After the game on Monday night, he’s supposed to just drop her off at the door of her room. She successfully negotiated to get a room by herself for this tour, since she couldn’t very well stay with Scott. She can’t quite remember how the light peck of a goodnight kiss turned into his hand palming her ass under her skirt while they make out against the wall of the goddamn hallway. They hear the elevator doors open in the distance and he pulls his mouth away just enough to speak.

 

“Someone’s coming.”

 

“Unless it’s you, I don’t care,“ she whispers against his lips, and she would laugh at her own quip if she wasn’t so turned on.

 

“They’ll see,” he says in a pained voice. Doesn’t back away.

 

She stares at him defiantly, and it hits her.

 

“So? I want them to see,” she whispers hotly.

 

He looks like a bolt of lightning just went through him and his eyes widen just for a moment. He presses her harder against the wall, the hand underneath her skirt moving from her ass. She’s about to protest, when she feels his hand against her pussy. He cups her over her panties and leans in to whisper in her ear.

 

“Like this? Is this what you want them to see?”

 

There are voices and laughter heard from the elevator banks. A group of friends are lingering there, and they could walk their way any second now. He taps his fingers against her panties, at the wetness gathered there. He pushes in, just a couple of fingers and her panties, just an inch. Takes out his fingers, leaves the panties inside. She feels her legs give a little, keeps herself up by tightening her hold on his bicep.

 

“Fuck, Scott.”

 

The heel of his palm is up against her clit, and he begins rubbing her quickly, in rough circles. No preamble, no easing her into it. He knows she is ready.

 

“Like this? Tell me,” he says as she bucks into his hand.

 

“Yeah, yes, Scott,” she moans, too loudly.

 

He jerks back and with both hands he turns her around, right on the entrance of her room. For a moment, her mind considers the wild possibility that he’ll fuck her right there in the hallway, and she frantically rolls her hips against him. Apparently he has the same thought, because his next words are uttered in a barely controlled, hoarse voice.

 

“Open the fucking door, now Tess,” he says into her ear, and it takes her shaking hands three tries to swipe the keycard and let them in.

 

They barely make it to the bed, hands and mouths everywhere as she sits down on the edge. She bunches up her skirt and is just about to unbutton his jeans when he takes her hand and pins it behind her.

 

“Later,” he says softly, and kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed. “We got time.”

 

Her insides quiver. She knows what he is like when he gets in this kind of mood. He got her message out there in the hallway. _I’d be yours, for anything you want, in any place, for anyone to see_. He’s ready to give her what she wants, won’t stop until they bare themselves down to their basest forms.

 

He has learned how to read her eyes, the crease of her brow, the cadence of her breath, the tightening of her muscles, and on nights like this he knows what she needs even before she does. She can’t believe she ever fucked men who didn’t care to find out what she needed to get off, or worse yet, refused to do it even when she asked for it, point blank. Scott waits for her cue, feels her every move, and the live wire that connects them brittles with electricity.

 

She’s gonna have trouble staying in control of herself tonight, she knows. He seems to read her mind again, and gives her his blessing.

 

“Be as loud as you fucking want,” he says, and takes his first long lick.

 

Hence, the all-nighter.)

 

***

 

The clock reads 09.54 now, and he has the _nerve_ to lightly suck the spot just left of her pulse point, driving her insane. Well, that settles it. She’s awake now, and they’re definitely going to be late for practice.

 

Just as she prepares to make her move, Scott pulls away from her.

 

“I gotta swing by my room, T.”

 

“Nooooooo,” she whines plaintively as she slowly opens her eyes and sees him pull his shirt over his head.

 

“Baby, you know I can’t show up to practice with last night’s clothes, right?” he says. “Plus I gotta find Chiddy. If he’s gonna keep covering for us I have to up the ante on the bribes.”

 

“Make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

 

He takes a moment to think about it, buttoning his jeans.

 

“Set up a pyramid scheme to sell his wine all over Ontario?”

 

“I meant more along the lines of, agree to buy him coffee every day for the rest of the tour, but your plan works too.”

 

He’s fully dressed now. He sits on the edge of the bed, leans down to put his arms around her and brings her back up with him. They breathe each other in for a few moments, and with one last kiss in her hair, he’s gone.

 

As the door closes behind him, she grabs her phone from the nightstand, willing her brain to get with the program and wake up. Jordan has sent a text earlier this morning that leads Tessa to open Instagram, load Kaitlyn’s latest story and promptly let out a gasp. Kaitlyn’s calling out Tessa, Scott and Andrew for not being at practice yet, and she’s apparently so angry that she forgot to blur the coordinator’s private email and phone number.

 

This is so unlike Kaitlyn that it gives Tessa pause. Yesterday, before the Leafs game, Elvis had told the guys that Tuesday’s practice had moved to a bit later in the morning, and Kaitlyn would have known about the schedule change if she had seen Andrew last night. The fact that she apparently hadn’t could mean any number of things, but Tessa won’t know any more details until she actually gets to the rink.

 

She swipes left and right on her home screens, finally deciding on the Facebook app that is connected to her private profile that only her closest friends and family know about, the one under lock and key and every advanced security setting that Mark Zuckerberg has ever come up with. As soon as her newsfeed loads, she sees it, in the app’s memory feature: a picture of her with Scott, beaming in Geneva, on this day, two years ago. She lies back, snuggles deeper into the covers, and relives that day for a few more minutes.

 

***

 

They’d done Stephane’s show two days earlier and although rehearsals for Stars On Ice '16 were due to begin soon, they wanted to stay in Switzerland for as long as they possibly could. It was the last day before flying back to Canada, their last chance for some peace and quiet, since during the home tour they would almost definitely be bombarded with questions on the comeback they’d just announced. In Geneva, no one asked about their new fitness regimes, or how they planned to beat the competition that had just recently exploded on the scene, or whether they _really_ believed they could win Olympic gold again. They were just a couple of tourists, trying (and failing) to order coffee and sandwiches in broken French.

 

It was a sunny day, with just the slightest breeze reaching from the lake to the shore. They walked hand in hand on the dock next to the Jet D’Eau fountain, her daring him to get within a couple of feet from the water jet and collapsing in giggles when he completely soaked his jacket as a result; they debated which of the insanely expensive watches on the Rolex store window was the ugliest; they crossed the Mont-Blanc bridge on foot, and he stayed with her as she stopped every few feet to admire the flocks of swans swimming towards the bank.

 

He didn’t let go of her hand. Not once.

 

When they got to the other side of the lake, Scott, world’s number one hater of selfies, decided they should take one and send it to Max and Tatiana, who were already back in Moscow and probably freezing their asses off, with the sole purpose of annoying them.

 

_so cute, it’s disgusting_ , Tati shot back a minute later, followed by five heart-eye emojis. To Scott’s great disappointment, Max, the coward, didn’t even bother sending a _fuck you_.

 

“We _are_ cute”, said Tessa, still looking at the picture of them smiling on her phone. “And I love the backdrop of the lake, and we’re in matching outfits even.” A pause, to keep her voice as playful and even as possible, and then: “We’re a good match, aren’t we?”

 

Scott didn’t reply, and it took her a moment before she finally pushed herself to look up at him. He was smiling. He reached his hand out to her again.

 

“Let’s go for a ride,” he said. She arched an eyebrow, and laced their fingers together.

 

Together they walked into the car rental agency, fastened their seatbelts in a blue Renault SUV and set out on the freeway for his mysterious road trip. He drove them along Lake Leman, past Nyon, past Lausanne, off the freeway, through bridges and country roads and quaint villages, until they reached a large white 19th century building and a sign that said, _Maison Cailler, Visitors’ Entrance_.

 

“What is this place?” she asked breathlessly, half-alarmed, half-ecstatic.

 

“This”, he said in a conspiratorial, low voice, “is where we jeopardise our Lindt sponsorship, just to get a taste of heaven”. He winked playfully, before taking her hand. “I’m told it’s worth the risk”.

 

This, it turned out, was the understatement of the century. Tessa managed not to faint as they enter the old factory turned tourist attraction, the delicious smells attacking her from everywhere. She even kept her composure when an employee used cocoa and milk to make a fresh bar of chocolate, _right there_ in front of her, and Scott pretended not to want any so she could eat all of it.

 

She almost burst into tears at the tasting station, where she came upon dozens of trays of freshly made chocolate assortments. They spent half an hour in the room, with the chocolatier eagerly serving them more and more delicacies, until they’re positive they won’t be able to eat any more chocolate for at least a month. She ate one last praline; let it melt in her mouth, sending up her prayers of gratitude to the Swiss for blessing her life with this miraculous taste.

 

Scott swung by the gift shop and made sure to buy enough souvenirs for all his nieces and nephews. While he was at the register, she uploaded the picture from their morning stroll on Instagram and captioned it with literally the most neutral thing in the world: a Swiss flag emoji.

 

She wasn’t feeling neutral about anything, though. She practically skipped all the way back to the car, feeling giddy and light as a feather. It might have been all the chocolate, although she’d read somewhere that there is no such thing as a sugar high. If it was all an urban legend with no real scientific basis, then how could this exhilarating surge, this rush of excitement be explained? As soon as the question formed in her mind, so did the answer. She stopped walking abruptly, and Scott turned to her quizzically, a hint of concern on his face.

 

Before he had time to worry, she ran to him, jumping into his arms with a squeal, almost knocking him back with the force of it all. She wrapped her legs around him, and he buried his face in her neck. She could feel his shoulders shake, and she heard him laughing contently.

 

She pulled back a little and looked into his eyes. “I don’t think anyone is gonna rat us out to Lindt”, she says, and the parking lot was empty but her voice stills dropped so only he could hear. “This will be our little secret,” she whispered.

 

He leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers, and whispered back, “I won’t tell if you won’t”.

 

Later that night, as he pulled her even deeper into his embrace and her eyes fluttered closed, it occurred to her that his lips were the sweetest thing she ever tasted.

 

***

 

She enters the Halifax rink expecting a tense atmosphere, but the situation has been diffused already. Kaitlyn is still a little annoyed at not being notified of the schedule change, but she’s deleted the Instagram story and she waves hello from her spot next to the boards, before laughing at something Meagan says to her.

 

Tessa hugs almost everyone good morning before spotting Scott, coffee cup in hand, talking animatedly to Chiddy, who is holding the same kind of coffee cup. Bribing plan already in motion, she thinks with a smirk.

 

“Good morning, boys,” she says cheerily, taking off her jacket.

 

Scott looks up and opens his mouth to speak, but whatever he was about to say dies in his throat when he sees what she’s wearing. It’s his favorite bodysuit, the one with the mesh back that drove him wild in Pyeongchang, and she put it on specifically to get a reaction out of him. It’s obviously working.

 

“Good morning, Tessa,” he says as he reaches her, and just before he hugs her she notices the way his eyes darken, the clenched set of his jaw. To anyone looking, this probably looks like a normal greeting between partners, but she is acutely aware of him placing his hand an inch away from her breast and splaying his fingers before squeezing tight.

 

He knows what he’s doing. At 5am this morning, when he awoke after a few minutes of sleep and found her restless, eyes wide open, bouncing her leg on the mattress, she welcomed his touch. He quietly picked her up and carried her to the shower. “Let’s just relax,” he said, turning on the hot water, and they proceeded to do everything _except_ relax, as he held tight to the exact same spot that he’s touching right now.

 

Oh, God.

 

It’s going to be a long day.

 

***

 

She spends the morning constantly feeling his touch all over her, even though she is practicing her number with the girls and he is mostly off ice, discussing changes to the boys’ choreography with Andrew and Jeff. Kaetlyn calls for a break, and Scott strokes across the ice to join her. It’s been so long since they last touched (oh, about 35 minutes or so), that her heart threatens to beat right out of her chest. When he finally reaches her, she stretches her arms above her head and says, “Don’t even think about skating with me right now, I’m so tired”. He has the audacity to look _proud_.

 

He grins and bows slightly, offering his back. “May I see you back to the village?” he asks in a terrible British accent.

 

(He may have managed to dodge skating to the soundtrack through years and years of her relentless campaigning, but the movie is practically on a loop in her Netflix queue back in Montreal, and it’s clearly rubbed off on him.)

 

She bursts out laughing, before assuming a neutral expression again.

 

“I’m very fond of walking,” she tells him very seriously, and climbs on his back.

 

“Yes, yes, I know,” he replies, and takes her around the rink in the silliest piggyback ride she’s had in a long time.

 

A couple of times, she tries to switch to one of their lifts, give this a semblance of professionalism, but he won’t have it. He holds her legs steady against him, rubs her thighs with his thumbs in a way that makes her shiver. She tightens the grip of her arms around his neck and suddenly his shoulders tense up. She worries that she might be putting too much pressure on him, hastily asks him if he’s okay.

 

“I am,” he says in a low voice, “but you’re getting me hard doing that and we’re in public so…”

 

_Oh._

 

She feels her insides clench and now it’s _definitely_ time for the ride to end. He brings her to the boards and he’s about to put her down when Gabby comes up to them.

 

“Wait, wait!” she yells excitedly, and points her iPhone at them. They quickly school their expressions into dorky smiles, because a picture of lust during a piggyback ride would be the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Perfect!” declares Gabby and shows them the photo.

 

Scott lets out an unnaturally high-pitched laugh and skates away quickly. Tessa sees him hurry off to the locker rooms, and he’s away for five minutes before re-emerging, looking calm and collected. He either took a moment to simmer down, or… he took care of the situation himself. The thought makes her feel impossibly warm, from her neck all the way down the bottom of her belly, and she decides to post Gabby’s picture on her Instagram stories, focusing all of her attention on the incredibly important task of choosing the most appropriate placement for a couple of emojis.

 

***

 

Around noon, the guys are doing a dry run of the choreo right by the ice, and the exertion makes Scott’s hair even wilder than it normally is these days. When he’s finally had enough of it getting in his face, he gathers most of it into a man bun and shoots Tessa a look of feigned indignation, as in, _this is all your fault_. She’ll gladly take the blame. He looks ridiculous and gorgeous and _hers_.

 

(It _is_ her fault, because she _did_ ask him to grow it until he absolutely had to cut it, and he happily obliged. Back in Osaka, their fellow skaters were relentless in their teasing about his gorgeous mane, but on bowling night, as Chiddy prepared to launch into a rendition of a song from _Tangled_ , Scott cleared his throat.

 

“I have an announcement to make”, he said.

 

A collective gasp, heard around the room.

 

“You guys need to accept the hair thing right now, because it’s here to stay. Say whatever you want but I’m feeling myself”, at this, the group erupted into laughter and catcalls, “so it’s not going anywhere until July.”

 

“What’s happening in July?” asked Kaetlyn, raising her eyebrow.

 

“Just the end of the tour. Nothing is happening in July,” he said nonchalantly, and after a moment Tessa saw him glancing at her, his eyes full of mischief.

 

_Everything_ is happening in July.)

 

***

 

Lunchtime is mostly uneventful. Jeff has arranged for a delivery of turkey sandwiches and some kind of juice drinks made from avocado and papaya that Tessa seriously doesn’t feel inclined to try. They all sit around the table and engage in a discussion about the Calgary Olympics bid, which they can’t really do in a public forum since it’s a sensitive subject for the city and the country. Opinions are exchanged and Javier, the only non-Canadian among them, brings a much-needed objective point of view.

 

After lunch is over, Tessa and Scott wait by the rink for Andrew and Kaitlyn to finish their run of their new program set to Lady Gaga. Scott sings along, off-key. Sometimes Tessa wonders when she’ll stop laughing with his jokes, or finding even his silliest moments endearing, or wanting to hug him just for being _him_. She figures that if it hasn’t happened already, twenty-two years into their partnership and way after the honeymoon stage of their intimate relationship, it will never happen.

 

As a matter of fact she wants to cuddle with him right now. Her phone will have to serve as a distraction, and she types her hashtag in the search box on Instagram. She scrolls through pictures from the Olympics, beautiful edits and videos crafted by their fans with such love and fondness that she can’t trust herself to watch them in public.

 

She comes upon a picture of them from years ago. Outwardly, they look mostly similar to now, but in her heart she knows what they went through in the interim. She remembers the silences, the disappointments, the false starts and the real fears. They didn’t get to where they are today by gliding beautifully across the ice in a perfectly choreographed plan. There was love, and effort and a conscious decision to know their truth and put their entire hearts into it. Happiness, she knows now, is a conquest.

 

And yet.

 

In the picture, Scott is covering the mic and making a joke that is meant only for them. They’re laughing heartily, in their own world, and there’s hearts around their heads. Love, everywhere.

 

She looks at Scott next to her, clapping enthusiastically for Kaitlyn and Andrew’s routine.

 

Some things never really change at all.

 

***

 

She can’t stop thinking about him.

 

Which is weird and makes no sense, because he is currently standing three feet away from her, and they’re dancing. _Together_.

 

The thing is, she was doing just fine, totally calm, focused on the choreography, killing it in practice, thank you very much, and they are in their fifth run of You Rock My World when it happens.

 

She twists around and jumps on him for the stationary lift, and his breathing changes. It speeds up a little bit and she feels his energy shift instantly. They look at each other during the lift, and he understands her completely. It’s enough. A few seconds later they do the breakdown choreography and Sam would be proud to know they can execute it so well in their current state.

 

She can’t resist the urge to run her hands though his hair during the final twirl that goes on and on. She clutches the curls at the base of his neck, and pulls slightly with her fingers. His reaction is instant, his hand shooting up from his hold on her waist to the back of her neck. Through the mesh bodysuit, he runs through her spine with his fingers, traces down the line until he reaches the small of her back and pushes her ever so slightly against him.

 

And, yeah. They’re both ready to go.

 

They stroke quickly towards the other skaters, who are now gathered around Jeff. He’s outlining the schedule for the next day, making sure there are no more mixups with the schedule.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Tessa is surprised to see Gabby look up at her, a look of concern on her face. “Yeah, everything’s fine! Why do you ask?”

 

“Well, you’re shivering. It’s freezing in here!” Gabby says, and bends down to pick up Tessa’s Adidas sweatshirt from the chair where she left it earlier. “Here, put this on,” she whispers, as Jeff wraps up his speech by announcing that next day’s lunch will be turkey sandwiches, again.

 

Tessa takes the sweatshirt from the hands of this sweet summer child, and feels the blush passing from her face to her neck and chest, willing it to disappear in the time it takes her to pull down the sweatshirt over her head. From the corner of her eye, she can see Scott smirking, and she reaches out a hand to playfully swipe at him, because he has _no_ right to enjoy her embarrassment.

 

“…And because I heard you all loud and clear,” Jeff says, “there will be no more avocado and papaya drinks. Only water.”

 

The group erupts into applause and laughter, and Tessa rubs Scott’s back as they join in. He turns to her, and mouths “five minutes” before going to the locker rooms.

 

Linda, the social media manager for the tour, approaches her then, and lets her know that she’s just emailed a bunch of photos from the day, in case Tessa wants to post something on her accounts. Tessa thanks her and opens her email. There are so many beautiful snaps from the day, but the one that catches her eye is the last one, taken just minutes ago. It’s her and Scott in black and white, laughing at Jeff’s quips, and it warms her heart so much that she doesn’t even think twice about posting it. It occurs to her that her online presence today has been all about her and Scott, and she is usually more reserved about this, more reserved about them. But he’s been in her mind, in her every thought, all day, and it’s only logical that he’s everywhere else too. She feels so light, so carefree, and as Scott appears, gym bag in hand, she excitedly plans the evening ahead.

 

But it is not to be. On their way out, Jeff stops them.

 

“Guys, wanna grab dinner in a bit? There’s a restaurant on the waterfront that comes highly recommended.”

 

“Uh…” Scott starts and it’s clear that he can’t come up with an excuse fast enough. It’s not like they expected Jeff to suggest dinner; they were fairly sure they’d put him off hanging out with them _forever_.

 

“Come on, guys! It’s gonna be fun! We have lots to discuss! Be ready at 7, okay?” he says and scurries off.

 

Tessa and Scott look at each other and obligingly resign to their fate.

 

This is gonna be bad.

 

*

 

It’s even worse than they thought.

 

“Uh. Absolutely not.”

 

“Tessa.”

 

“Jeff. This is how Oscar-bait biopics begin. With stupid plans that end in bloodshed.”

 

Jeff laughs. “Why are you being so dramatic, Tessa?”

 

“Because I don’t wanna get murdered in my sleep by Meryl!” says Tessa in a stage whisper.

 

Scott laughs, chiming in.

 

“Jeff, they’re never going to invite us anyway. They wouldn’t let us hijack the American tour. Who would even get the spotlight in the finale? Also, my friendship with Charlie is only just getting back on track, and it’s 90% due to Tanith being amazing and working overtime, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

 

“Okay, if you don’t want to do Stars On Ice, then how about another tour in the US? Something entirely new,” Jeff says.

 

“That would take a lot of planning,” says Tessa.

 

“I got time,” says Jeff, “and I got ideas. I want you guys to make a killing. Think about it,” he says.

 

A few blessed seconds of silence pass, until Jeff speaks again.

 

“Isn’t this the most romantic place you’ve ever seen, guys?” he says, a glint in his eye. “The lighting, the music, the waterfront… Isn’t it perfect?”

 

Tessa isn’t sure exactly what Jeff is getting at, but her best guess would be, _nothing good._

 

“Uh… Yeah, I guess?” says Scott, mirroring her confusion.

 

“Well,” Jeff says, kicking back his chair, “I’m gonna go talk to my friend who owns this place for a bit, and in the meantime you two can figure out if it’s romantic enough for your tastes. If it puts you in the mood and all.”

 

Tessa isn’t sure what an aneurysm feels like, but she might be having one right now.

 

Scott’s got a faraway look on his face, staring somewhere into the void, and there’s a good chance he’ll be speechless for the rest of the night.

 

“Don’t ever say I didn’t do anything for you guys,” Jeff sing-songs as he walks away.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all know that Jeff Buttle is on to their bullshit. If you've read this far, i love you and i cherish you. Tessa, girl, if you're reading this, i'm so sorry.
> 
> Comments are the best!
> 
> (ps. Maison Cailler is THE SHIT. Trust me on this.)


End file.
